


The Chronicles of Anna Watson

by movementinthedark



Series: The Chronicles of Anna Watson [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/movementinthedark/pseuds/movementinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots surrounding the adventures of Anna Watson, John's adopted daughter, and her relationships with canon characters. Set at various points post The Great Game. Mostly - though not exclusively - fluff. Largely series compliant and may contain spoilers for all 3 series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> I know there is no shortage of John-and/or-Sherlock-has-a-kid fics, but this idea began writing itself in my head and then insisted on being written down. Once I'd started, it seemed a shame not to share it! I've written fanfiction previously, but never before for Sherlock. I'm also developing two other fics featuring Anna that will be more plot/case driven, so stay tuned if that's more to your interest!
> 
> Perhaps obviously, I do not own anything related to Sherlock. I'm merely taking the characters out for a spin.

 

_Set between The Empty Hearse and The Sign of Three_

 

Anna Watson was mad.

At this very moment, she could be at home, watching telly from the sofa. She could be at the park. She could be with Mary, or at a friend’s house, or at Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson. But no, she was here. HERE! Of all the places she could be. Anna glanced across the spacious outer office to where Anthea sat behind an expansive desk. When not on the move, Mycroft’s assistant apparently swapped her phone for a sleek laptop, to which she gave the same, unwavering attention. Anthea had not looked up once in the past hour, yet Anna had the feeling that she was under close surveillance. As if she needed a babysitter! She wouldn’t put it past them, though, either of them. Not the one who evidently defined “keeping an eye on her” as either doing so via CCTV or letting his assistant do it for him, and not her dad, off running around London on a case. Anna scowled at the book in her hands.

If she was honest with herself, Anna knew that her current predicament was entirely – well, _mostly_ – of her own making. If it hadn’t been for her impulsivity that afternoon three weeks ago, her dad would have had no reason to reconsider allowing her to stay home by herself. He could have been more understanding, though, she thought, trying not to kick at the chair leg in frustration. She had promised to never do it again, and she’d meant it! He’d said he believed her, but if so, then why was she sitting here now?

She’d had no idea where her dad was taking her when he hustled her into the cab earlier in the afternoon, except that he was most definitely not allowing her to accompany him to the crime scene he was heading to. Anna had hoped for Baker Street. She had been shocked and more than a little displeased to end up in Whitehall.

A throat clearing startled her from her thoughts and she glanced up to see Mycroft Holmes staring down at her, wearing an unreadable expression.

“Are you reading that book or merely glaring at it?” He asked mildly. Receiving no response, he gestured behind him towards his office. “Come have a cup of tea.”

 

\------------

 

Anna was in the outer office with her book, once again, when Anthea finally spoke.

“You’re father’s here, Anna. I’m to see you downstairs.”

Anna watched in amazement as Anthea stood, shifted her gaze from her laptop to the phone that was now in her hand and crossed to hold open the door without so much as a sideways glance. The younger girl eagerly followed and was extremely relieved when John entered her sights; that is, until she remembered she was still upset with him.

“Ready?” he asked, giving her a smile. Anna stalked by him, not bothering to answer the utterly ridiculous question.

John sighed and followed her out into the late afternoon light. “Still angry at me, I see.”

 

\------------ 

 

Anna was only mildly surprised to find Sherlock occupying half of the cab’s backseat, staring off into space. He didn’t move or say a word as she scooted into the center, her dad climbing in after her. After giving the cabbie directions, John glanced at Anna and then nudged her gently in the ribs.

“Quit sulking.”

“No.”

“Are you really still mad about this? I had to leave you somewhere.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” John turned a bit so he could see her. “I wasn’t leaving you home alone after last time.”

“Well, you didn’t have to leave me with Mycroft!” She snapped.

“You left her with Mycroft?” Sherlock asked from beside her, so suddenly that Anna jumped. “Really, John, what is wrong with you?”

“See?!” Anna exclaimed.

John glared at the detective over her head. “Sherlock, I told you…” he started, before giving up and turning back to his daughter.

“It’s not the worst place I could’ve left you.”

“Yes, it is.” Sherlock retorted, before Anna even had a chance to reply.

“Sherlock!” John bellowed. " _Not. Helping_.”

 

\------------

 

When the two Watsons finally reached their front door, Sherlock having departed for Baker Street, Anna was still angry and John increasingly frustrated. She waited for him to unlock the door, then darted past and straight for the kitchen.

“Mary!”

John rounded the corner to see his increasingly tall daughter – so far from the tiny eight year old he had adopted - nearly throwing herself into his fiancée’s embrace. He was quite chuffed that they were getting along so well, though he suspected Anna’s current enthusiasm towards Mary had a lot to do with her displeasure with him. Sure enough, she was glaring at him – again – over her shoulder.

Mary glanced between them, before gently pushing Anna back far enough to see her face. “Alright, what’d he do?”

John sighed as Anna scowled. “He left me with Mycroft! For hours and hours!”

“You did what?” Mary was looking at him now and John wasn’t sure he appreciated the expression on her face.

“No one else was around!” He held up his hands, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself. “You were out, Molly was working, Lestrade was with Sherlock and I, and Sherlock said Mrs. Hudson had gone out! Mycroft had offered before, so I thought… And it wasn’t hours and hours, Anna,” he gave her a stern look. “It was only a couple.”

“A couple of hours that I could’ve spent here!” Anna extricated herself from Mary’s grasp and whirled to face him. “I’m twelve, not five! You could’ve just let me stay here! 

John didn’t get a chance to respond, as she spun around again and ran for the hall. Her bedroom door slammed moments later. John glanced back to Mary.

“I can’t believe you left her with Mycroft,” she said with a laugh. “She’s not going to forgive you easily for that.”

John slumped forward on to the counter, resting his head in his hands. Mary crossed the kitchen to stand beside him, running a hand through his short hair.

“You do know I’m mostly having you on, yes?”

He glanced up at her through his fingers.

“She’s twelve, John. Sure, she’s mad, but she also adores you. She’ll get over it. Give her a bit to calm down and then go talk to her.”

 

\------------

 

Thirty minutes later, John knocked on Anna’s door. He heard and ignored the muffled “go away”, opening the door and crossing to where she sat on her bed.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he informed her. She shrugged.

John sighed. “Alright, let’s have it.”

“What?” She glanced up at him.

“You’re clearly still upset, so let’s have it. I’d rather that than you sitting here stewing all night.”

“You _know_ why I’m upset,” she growled. “You _left_ me with _Mycroft._ ”

John took a seat beside her. “And why do you think I did that?”

“Cause no one else was around,” she mimicked. He decided to ignore her tone, in favor of getting to the point.

“No, okay, well yes… but why do you think I didn’t just leave you here, as you seem to believe I should have?”

Anna ducked her head then, refusing to meet his eyes, and he didn’t miss the flush to her cheeks. “Because last time I didn’t stay here when you told me to.”

“Yes.”

“But I wasn’t going to do it again!”

“You shouldn’t have done it the first time,” he reminded her.

She sighed, studying the bedspread. “I know… but you already grounded me for that!”

“Anna, leaving you with Mycroft today wasn’t a punishment.” John gently tipped her chin up until she met his eyes. “It was so I knew where you were and that you were safe while I was working on a case. Do you understand the difference?”

She sighed again and nodded. “It’s just…” She trailed off and John waited, letting her collect her thoughts. “It just made me feel like you don’t trust me.”

He took her hands in his. “Well, when you don’t follow my instructions, when you don’t do what you say you’re going to do, that does affect how much I trust you.” He squeezed her hands gently, clearly noting her pained expression. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t trust you at all or that you can’t earn that trust back. But, sweetheart, it’s really important that I have confidence that you’ll do what I say and be where I expect you to be.”

“I know,” Anna sniffed. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are and you don’t have to keep apologizing. I just want you to understand why I felt I couldn’t leave you home today, okay?” She nodded again and John gave her a wry smile. “Was staying with Mycroft really all that terrible?”

Anna considered. “He did make me tea… well, I don’t suppose he actually made it himself.” She giggled at the thought and John chuckled along with her. “But we had tea, and mostly I just read. Or tried to read while really just thinking about how annoyed I was.”

John smiled and leaned in towards her. “So, have you forgiven me yet?”

She looked thoughtful. “Well, I guess so…”

“You _guess_ so? What kind of answer is that?” John glanced down at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “We’re going to have to do something about that.” He reached for her suddenly, finding her most ticklish spots with practiced ease. She shrieked and tried to escape, but John’s greater strength and soldier’s reflexes gave him a distinct advantage. Within moments, she was giggling uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay,” she managed in between giggles. “I forgive you!” John immediately stopped and pulled her into his arms. She hugged him back.

“Tell you what,” he started, resting his chin on top of her head. “I will allow you to stay home alone again...”

“Really?” She interrupted, craning her neck to look up at him.

“Really,” he affirmed. “But this is your chance to prove that you can be responsible. So if I tell you to stay in the flat, you stay in the flat, barring an absolute emergency. And if you don’t, I will feel no guilt whatsoever about leaving you with Mycroft whenever I see fit. Clear?”

“Clear,” she replied, nodding against his chest.

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “Can we go eat dinner now? I’m starved.”

Anna giggled. “Me too.”

Releasing her, John stood up and turned to help her off the bed. When they appeared in the kitchen moments later, Mary smiled to see them hand-in-hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Sherlock in the next chapter, I promise!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Bedtime Rituals

 

_Set between The Great Game and A Scandal in Belgravia_

 

Sherlock Holmes did not have a lot of experience with children. Or much interest in them, for that matter. Yet, when John asked him if he would stay with Anna while the doctor went out on a date, Sherlock had agreed. It couldn’t be that hard, right? John hadn’t had one night out in the six weeks since Anna had moved in and it didn’t take the world’s only consulting detective to deduce that he needed it. Besides, Sherlock was sort of, sometimes, getting used to the girl. The evening had thus far proceeded uneventfully. Anna had spent most of it watching some ridiculous DVD that Molly Hooper had bought her, leaving Sherlock to his experiments and his thoughts, which was exactly as he preferred it. Now, however, the pajama clad eight year old was standing right next to him, blond hair mussed, curious eyes darting between the detective and the items scattered across the table.

“What’re you doing?” 

“An experiment.” Sherlock replied shortly, not bothering to glance at her.

“What kind of experiment?” Anna leaned forward over the table, only to be stopped by Sherlock’s arm. 

“No touching.”

“I wasn’t,” she grumbled. “Can I watch?”

Sherlock looked at her for the first time. “What happened to the movie with the talking, scientifically inaccurate fish?”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “Finding Nemo?”

Sherlock shrugged.

Her eyes widened. “You’ve never heard of Finding Nemo?”

“Nope.”

Anna appeared to struggle with this for several seconds, before evidently deciding the matter was not worth pursuing. “It finished,” she informed him.

“Oh.”

“So, can I watch?” 

The detective sighed. “Fine, but don’t touch anything.”

 

\------------

 

John stepped through the door to their flat and was immediately greeted by the sound of two voices in the kitchen – Sherlock’s low rumble and the considerably higher pitched timbre of his adopted daughter. The doctor grimaced as he glanced at his watch. Trust Sherlock to not remember a thing so simple as bedtime! Anna should have been asleep hours ago. The irritation instantly dissipated as he reached the kitchen doorway and absorbed the sight before him. Sherlock seated at the kitchen table, Anna perched on one of his knees. They were both leaning over something on the table – _please, let it not be any body parts_ – and Anna was intently listening to whatever it was the detective was explaining to her. John leaned against the doorway and smiled. 

“Ah, John, you’re home.” Sherlock’s voice startled the petitioned from his reverie.

“John!” Anna bounded off Sherlock’s lap and across the floor to the doctor, launching herself into his arms. He caught her easily, lifting her up to hold against his good shoulder, as she wound her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. As enthused as he was over her bonding with Sherlock, John was secretly pleased that such enthusiastic welcomes were reserved entirely for him.

“Did you have fun?” he asked her. 

“Uh huh!” Anna beamed at him. “Sherlock let me help with an experiment!”

“So I see.” John replied, as the little girl in his arms yawned and nestled her head into the crook of his neck. “Somebody’s tired... probably because you should have been to bed ages ago…” The last was said with a pointed look towards Sherlock, who was still studying an object on the table and didn’t appear to notice. John raised his eyebrows in mild exasperation and then carried his sleepy daughter up the stairs to her bed.

Her eyes closed almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, and John was halfway out her bedroom door when he heard her calling to him.

“John,” Anna mumbled, voice heavy with almost-sleep. “Sherlock’s never heard of Finding Nemo…”

 

\------------

 

When John returned to the kitchen, Sherlock was still making notes. John glanced at the items on the table and was relieved that everything looked fairly innocuous.

“Do you have any idea of the time?” 

“Hmm, what?” The detective lifted his head and blinked. “Time?”

“Yes.” John rolled his eyes. “Do you know What. Time. It. Is.?”

Sherlock resumed focus on his notes. “You appear to be in a fairly good mood, so you can’t have come home too early. Besides which, I have been measuring this reaction at regular intervals, so the data suggests that…”

“Sherlock!” John interrupted, waiting until the detective’s eyes were once again on his. “I’m not asking you to _deduce_ the time. I’m asking if you _KNOW_ the time. Specifically, I’m wondering if you realize that it is more than two hours _after_ the time that I told you to put Anna to bed.” 

“Oh.” Sherlock glanced around the room. “Where is she?”

John suppressed the urge to throw something at his flatmate. “In bed. Where I just put her. Because you _didn’t_.”

The detective huffed. “Well, really, John. I don’t know how you expect me to remember the exact minute you wish Anna to go to bed, it’s hardly important. I’m not sure why you insist on her bedtime, anyway. If she’s tired, she’ll sleep.”

John stared at Sherlock for a long moment, before shaking his head and moving towards the hall. “Next time you babysit, I’m setting you both a bedtime alarm.” He paused in the doorway. “And Sherlock, thanks for at least not exposing her to any body parts.”

“It’s a bit soon for that,” Sherlock replied, turning back to his notes. “Perhaps next week.”

 

\------------ 

 

On the next evening that Sherlock babysat Anna, his mobile buzzed at precisely eight-thirty. He retrieved it from the coffee table and glanced at it.

_Put Anna to bed. JW_

Sherlock waved his phone in the direction of the girl. “John says bedtime.”

Anna turned to look at him, slight traces of a pout evident in her expression. “Just a little while longer... please?”

“John will do me bodily harm if you’re not asleep by the time he gets home.” At her slightly bewildered expression, he suppressed a sigh and tried again. “He’ll be displeased.”

“Just a little bit longer,” she begged. “Not all the way till he gets back.” 

Fifteen minutes later, his mobile buzzed again.

_Now really put her to bed. JW_

“He’s persistent, isn’t he?” Sherlock asked the little girl. She shrugged. “Now you really have to go to bed.”

Anna frowned, but then sighed and nodded. “Alright.” She stood up and turned to him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Hm?”

“To tuck me in.”

“To tuck you in?” Sherlock echoed, as though he were pronouncing something in an unknown language.

Anna nodded.

“Does John usually… do that?”

“Yes,” Anna replied, in a tone not dissimilar to the one Sherlock used when people were being even more obtuse than usual.

“Well, I’m not John.”

Anna scowled at him. “You _have_ to tuck me in.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Anna folded her arms across her chest, fixing Sherlock with a look so reminiscent of John that he would have bet money that she was a flesh and blood Watson, had he not known it wasn’t the case. “If you don’t tuck me in, I’m not going to bed.” She flopped back down on to the couch and, after a moment of consideration, snuggled right up next to Sherlock. He froze. This was a situation for which he was decidedly unqualified.

 

\------------

 

When John returned home later that night, he was utterly shocked at the sight that greeted him. Sherlock was lying lengthwise on the couch, hands behind his head, studying the ceiling. Anna was tucked in beside him, her head on his chest, sound asleep. A blanket had been haphazardly thrown over her. Sherlock’s eyes met John’s, then widened perceptibly as he observed the doctor eagerly pulling out his phone.

“John. John!” Sherlock whispered, trying to devise a way to get up without waking Anna and coming up with nothing. “Don’t you dare!”

John stifled a giggle as he snapped the photo, then grinned at Sherlock. “And miss the opportunity to capture you doing something… sweet?”

Sherlock glared.

“Alright, alright, I’ll rescue you.” John crossed the room and reached over Sherlock to lift Anna into his arms. She barely stirred, just snuggled into him as he straightened up and carried her to bed.

When he returned a few moments later, he flopped into his chair with a sigh. Sherlock hadn’t moved.

“So what happened, then?” The doctor inquired.

“I told her to go to bed. She refused, unless I tucked her in. I refused. She insisted on falling asleep on me instead.”

John chuckled. “It would’ve been easier to just tuck her in.”

“Hm.”

“No?”

Sherlock’s gaze shifted to John. “She said you always tuck her in.”

“Yes.”

“…Tedious.”

“Well, children don’t exist primarily for your entertainment. Sometimes, they need consistency. Most times, in fact.” John sighed. “And she’s only eight and is still getting used to us.”

Sherlock didn’t reply.

“Why didn’t you just carry her to bed, once she fell asleep?”

“I didn’t want to risk waking her. She’s much less complicated when she’s sleeping.”

John chuckled at that.


	3. Farewell and Reunion

 

_Set at the end of The Reichenbach Fall and the end of The Empty Hearse_

 

John descended the stairs from his room at 221B Baker Street, carrying a bag full of the last bits of his and Anna’s belongings. Stepping into the living room, his eyes immediately went to his daughter, who was occupying Sherlock’s chair and staring sadly into space. Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway, wringing her hands together as she glanced around.

“The Detective Inspector has everything packed up in the car.” The older woman gave John a weary smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

John nodded. Lestrade had insisted on helping them move and John was honestly grateful for the assistance. It was much easier than trying to do it by himself. 

“You ready, love?” He asked Anna, who hadn’t moved.

Her gaze shifted to him. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispered. She wasn’t whining or arguing, just simply stating a fact. John knew exactly how she felt.

Mrs. Hudson, could you tell Lestrade we’ll be just a minute?” He asked, not breaking eye contact with Anna. The landlady agreed and disappeared down the stairs, and only then did John set the bag down and cross the room to crouch in front of his daughter.

“I know, Anna,” he told her soothingly. “I don’t want to, either. But we’ve talked about this, remember? It will be better for us both, and easier to move on, if we’re not constantly reminded of…” He couldn’t quite finish the sentence, but Anna spared him by speaking up. 

“I don’t want to forget him,” she said quietly.

“Sweetheart, we’re not going to forget him. We’ll never, ever forget him. Sherlock-“ and John was pleased he managed the name without his voice catching, “will always be with you, up here,” he gently touched her temple. “And here,” he continued, pressing his hand over her heart. He could only imagine what Sherlock would think of such a sentimental concept, but it seemed to be making Anna feel better and so John was rolling with it. “We’ll never forget him,” he repeated firmly. “But we also have to keep moving forward, and it will be easier to do that if we’re someplace new, someplace just for us, where everything doesn’t make us think of him.”

John wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince, Anna or himself. His words seemed to be resonating with the nine-year old, however, for she nodded slowly and then scooted forward to put her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m going to carry you downstairs now, okay?”

“Okay,” came the soft reply. He got his hands under her legs and lifted her as he stood, before retrieving the bag and making his way out of the flat. As they passed through the door, Anna lifted her head to look back at it one last time. “Bye, Sherlock.”

John had to swallow hard against a sudden lump in his throat, and held Anna just that little bit tighter as he made his way down the stairs.

**\------------**

 

_Two years and several months later_

 

Anna was practically vibrating with energy the entire way to Baker Street. She had yet to see Sherlock since he’d returned to London. Her dad had seen him a couple of times, although – from the bits she’d been able to get from he and Mary – she gathered that their first encounter had not gone entirely well. Their most recent meeting had ended with some kind of near catastrophe, but per usual, no one was telling Anna anything. She knew her dad had been angry with Sherlock, perhaps still was, and that she understood. She felt a bit similarly, herself. She had first been shocked, then excited, when John told her that Sherlock was alive, but now she couldn’t help but wonder – why had he faked his death in the first place?

The cab pulled up in front of 221B and Anna could barely wait for John to climb out before scrambling after him. She darted around him to the front door and pressed the buzzer, before turning back to watch he and Mary catch up to her. They were moving far too slowly. John jogged up the steps to join her and smiled, ruffling her hair.

The door swung open to reveal Mrs. Hudson, who immediately enveloped Anna in a warm embrace and seemed to be gushing over all three of them simultaneously. Anna hugged the landlady back tightly, having genuinely missed her, before extricating herself and peering almost nervously up the stairs. She glanced back to John.

He winked. “Go on.”

That was all the encouragement she needed.

Sherlock was by the window and turned at her footsteps. He looked so utterly him, so utterly at home, as though he had simply been standing in the flat all along, that Anna momentarily froze in place. For a long moment they stared at one another, Sherlock undoubtedly deducing, Anna trying to remember what it was she’d even meant to say.

Sherlock spoke first. “You’re taller.”

John snorted. Anna hadn’t even heard him come up the stairs.

“Well, yeah, that happens when you go away for two years,” Anna retorted. “How could you go away for _two years_?!” She had crossed the room while speaking and punctuated the last words with a punch to Sherlock’s arm, the hardest she could muster.

The detective merely raised his eyebrows, though he did rub at the offended spot.

“Anna!” John rebuked, but Sherlock held up his hand.

“It’s fine, John.” He regarded Anna appraisingly. “I’m fairly certain I deserved that. Besides,” and his eyes darted to John this time. “You don’t exactly have the moral high ground there.”

John supposed he had a point.

Anna stared at Sherlock for another long moment, and then took one further step forward to wrap her arms tightly around his middle, her face buried in his suit jacket. “I missed you.”

“John?” Sherlock’s voice rose in panic as he watched his now grinning friend turn and walk towards the kitchen. “John, help! She’s hugging me!”

The doctor glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, and I’m fairly certain you deserve that, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter (I was originally going to make this two chapters - then it would've been really short!), but I became quite attached to both these ideas and wanted to work them in somewhere!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Experiments

 

_Set at approximately the same time as "Bedtime Rituals"_

 

There were not, Anna discovered, really all that many rules in 221B. Sure, there were things like bedtime, reminders to do homework, and expectations that she tell the truth, be polite and generally do as she was told. While important, these were not so much announced as “rules” as simply figured out along the way. Most of that was John’s doing. Anna was fairly positive that Sherlock couldn’t care less if she went to bed or finished her homework, and he certainly didn’t put much stock in being polite. There were, however, a few clear and very specific rules that were communicated to her upon her arrival. “Don’t touch Sherlock’s experiments” - John had particularly emphasized that one – followed by “don’t touch the violin without permission”. There was also a strange one about not opening any unlabeled containers in the fridge – she’d really have to ask what that was about, as neither John nor Sherlock had bothered to explain it to her.

So when, on a Saturday afternoon, she found herself alone in the kitchen and dared to pick up a test tube from the rack on the table, she knew full well she was breaking a rule. Sherlock was in his room and John had gone to the loo, and she was just so intrigued by the pretty color in the small glass container. She’d just pick it up for a moment to better see and then put it back, and no one would ever know the difference. And it would have been so, had Sherlock not possessed the ability to move so completely silently. She never could quite figure out how he managed it. 

“What’re you doing?” The sudden, deep voice from the doorway startled her into a jump, the test tube slipping from her fingers to crash into the table below. Glass shattered, spattering colorful liquid across the wood surface, and Anna leapt backwards on instinct. Then she froze.

“What was that?” John appeared behind Sherlock then, peering around him into the kitchen. It took him all of three seconds to size up the situation – glass and chemicals strewn across the table, Sherlock staring at it with an unreadable expression, and Anna staring at Sherlock looking extremely _guilty_. Instincts taking over, John pushed past Sherlock to his still paralyzed adopted daughter, hefting her off the floor by her armpits and carrying her down the hall to the bathroom. Once there, he set her on her feet and turned the tap on in the sink, gently but firmly guiding her hands under the water.

“It’s cold!” She protested, pulling her hands back.

“Keep them under there,” he warned sternly, but adjusted the tap. He handed her the soap. “You need to wash your hands for fifteen minutes.”

“Why?” She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“In case you got any chemicals on them,” he replied, squatting down and brushing at the front of her clothes with his hand. “Doesn’t look like you got any on your clothes.”

“I don’t think so.” Anna’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Just on the table.”

John looked up at her from where he was crouched and she bit her lip as she absorbed his decidedly displeased expression.

“What were you-“ he started, and then abruptly interrupted himself. “Never mind that for now.” He got to his feet. “We’ll talk about it in a bit. Right now, keep washing your hands until I tell you to stop. I need to go help Sherlock clean up.”

 

\------------

 

Helping Sherlock clean up was decidedly a misnomer, as John returned to the kitchen to find the detective exactly where he had left him, eying the chemical mess on the table from his position in the doorway. 

“Right, so what are we dealing with here?” John inquired brusquely, as he rummaged under the sink for cleaning supplies.

“Hm?”

“I’m asking you what was in the test tube, Sherlock, so I know what kind of precautions we need to take in cleaning it up.” John straightened, cleaning fluid and rubber gloves in hand. “And also whether I need to be taking Anna to A&E.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” Sherlock retorted, still studying the table. “That’s hardly necessary.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

Sherlock gave a put-upon sigh, finally shifting his gaze to John. “It’s only ammonia, with a few drops of phenolphthalein. Similar concentration to what you would find in cleaning solution. Worst-case scenario, she might feel some irritation. But unlikely, as she hardly got any on her skin. While washing her hands is not a bad idea, fifteen minutes is unnecessary.”

John nodded. “Washing her hands a bit longer won’t do her any harm. And in the meantime, we can get the ammonia off the kitchen table.” John tossed a pair of rubber gloves to his flatmate, who caught them with ease and then studied them quizzically. “And yes, I do expect you to help.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before dropping the gloves on a chair and crossing the room to retrieve a dustpan.

“I’m sorry that she messed up your experiment,” John continued, pulling on the discarded gloves. “She knows better.”

“It’s fine.” Sherlock neatly swept the broken glass into the pan. “It’s not as though test tubes and ammonia are in short supply.”

“Yeah, is there a reason you’re testing the pH of ammonia?”

“I’m not testing the pH of ammonia,” Sherlock replied, in a tone that suggested this should have been obvious. “It’s merely a point of comparison.”

“Comparison with what?” John paused. “Should I be concerned about what’s in the other test tubes?”

 

\------------

 

By the time the kitchen table was rid of broken glass and chemicals and deemed safe for further use, the fifteen minutes were up. John had channeled much of his displeasure into scrubbing the table clean and was feeling much calmer by the time he called Anna into the living room. She appeared, nervously glancing between the two men, one standing by the coffee table with his arms folded and the other leaning against the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

“Did you wash the whole time, like I told you?”

Anna nodded, looking at John with wide eyes.

“And are your hands bothering you at all?” he asked, just to be sure. “Itching or burning, anything like that?”

“No.” Anna shook her head this time. “They feel fine.”

“Good.” His expression morphed into one considerably more stern and Anna swallowed hard. “What exactly were you doing, messing about with test tubes like that?”

“I wasn’t messing about!” Anna was indignant. “I just wanted to see it better. The colors were pretty!”

Sherlock snorted. John glared at him, before turning his sharp gaze back on the eight year old.

“What’s the rule about Sherlock’s experiments?” he asked pointedly.

Anna suddenly found the floor very interesting. “I’m not allowed to touch them,” she mumbled.

“That’s right. And do you know why?”

“Because… because I shouldn’t touch other people’s stuff without permission.”

“And?” John pressed.

“And cause it might be dangerous.”

“So you _do_ remember.” John crossed to where she stood, crouching down to be at her eye level and gently taking hold of her shoulders. “That’s why I made you wash your hands for so long. You were lucky that what was in that test tube wasn’t too dangerous, but it could’ve been something much worse. In fact, some of the other test tubes do have more harmful chemicals in them. And you didn’t know what was in there, did you?"

She shook her head. “But I didn’t mean to drop it,” she whined, sniffling a bit.

“I know. But you shouldn’t have been holding it in the first place.” He glanced towards Sherlock, who was watching them from the doorway. “And, in addition to the safety issue, you also damaged Sherlock’s experiment.” Anna’s eyes widened a bit further and she sniffled again. “Do you have something you want to say to him?”

John released her shoulders so she could shuffle a bit closer to Sherlock. “’m sorry, Sherlock,” she said quietly, looking up at him.

The detective stared down at the tiny girl, who was gazing at him with apprehension and guilt and, yes, genuine remorse. John coughed and Sherlock realized abruptly that he was probably supposed to respond. 

“It’s fine.” He cast around for something appropriate to add. “I did startle you.”

Both Anna and John seemed to accept that, the latter getting to his feet and crossing to the desk. Anna watched him as he retrieved a pen and a piece of notebook paper, setting them on the coffee table before returning his attention to her.

“I want you to write me a list of all the reasons why you shouldn’t touch Sherlock’s experiments,” he pronounced, ignoring his flatmate’s look of bemused incredulity.

Anna looked rather incredulous herself. “But I already told you,” she protested, an unmistakable whine in her voice.

“Well, you’re going to tell me again,” John replied. “In writing. Every reason you can think of and in complete sentences.” He gestured towards the paper and pen. “Come on, hop to it.”

Anna glanced back to Sherlock, as though hoping he might prove an ally. Although she had messed up his experiment, he seemed considerably less displeased with her then John. The detective merely shrugged.

“No, don’t look to him for help,” John scolded. “Do as you’re told, please.”

Anna let out an exaggerated sigh and walked to the coffee table, settling herself on the floor in front of the couch. She eyed the paper crossly for a moment and then picked up the pen.

 

\------------

 

“Really, John?” Sherlock abruptly asked, later that night after Anna was in bed. “Writing out the reasons she shouldn’t touch my experiments?”

John turned towards him, an eyebrow raised. “You’d prefer I had her write lines?”

“No.” Sherlock gave a visible shudder. “That’s utterly dull.”

“Well, a punishment isn’t supposed to be fun,” John retorted. “But personally, I thought having to think about the reasons would be a bit more beneficial than mere copying.” And it had been beneficial, he thought. Anna’s list had covered everything he could think of, from safety to “the experiments might be important” and, even, “because John told me not to”. Their ensuing conversation had, John felt, made very clear to Anna the importance of doing what he told her and he was confident that she would follow the experiments rule in the future. If for no other reason than that she felt incredibly guilty at the prospect of having upset he and Sherlock, guilt he made sure to soothe and dispel once he’d finished the rather unpleasant task of telling her off.

Sherlock was staring into space, looking as though he were considering something displeasing.

John regarded the detective for a moment. “Did you have a traumatic line writing experience or something?”

Sherlock shook himself slightly, before crossing to the kitchen table and his newly restarted experiment. “Several.”


	5. Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage Anna, for a change...

_Set approximately 3 years after the end of His Last Vow_

 

Anna had nearly dozed off when she heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Having put her little sister to bed ages ago, she had struggled to stay awake herself until her dad returned home. The sixteen year old couldn’t help but worry about him – and Sherlock – when they were out on a case, especially with Mary away for the weekend. If Anna had gone to sleep, no one would even know until morning if John didn’t return home safely. She scrambled off her bed and hurried down the hall to the living room, unable to suppress a gasp as she rounded the corner. Apparently she had been right to worry. 

John and Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, tiredly shrugging out of their coats. Each was sporting scattered bruises, and John was dabbing at a cut on his cheek.

“We’re fine,” he told his daughter by way of greeting.

“Clearly not,” was the retort, as Anna spun on her heel, disappearing from the room. She returned moments later, laden with the first aid kit, two bags of frozen vegetables and some dishtowels. Sherlock had flopped on to the sofa and she handed him a towel and one of the bags. At closer range, she could see he was more badly bruised than John, one eye partially swelling shut. “We should really invest in proper ice packs.”

Sherlock gave her a tired smile, before leaning back and plopping the makeshift ice pack over his injured eye. She then turned to her dad, who was still standing in the middle of the living room.

“Sit.” She pointed to the nearest chair. John stepped forward, reaching for the first aid kit in her hand. “Anna, I can do it myself.”

“You will do no such thing, John Watson,” she retorted, glaring up the mere two inches that separated their heights. “Sit down.”

Much to her surprise, John did as he was told, while Sherlock could be heard chuckling from the couch. Anna knelt in front of her dad’s chair, setting the first aid kit on the floor, and handed him his ice pack.

John smiled at her. “What happened to dad?” he asked teasingly, dutifully pressing the frozen vegetables to one cheek.

“I thought using your name would be more intimidating,” she admitted, as she dug through the first aid kit in search of what she needed. She smiled up at him. “It works for you, anyway.”

Sherlock snorted. “Anna, you couldn’t be intimidating if you tried.” The girl in question shot him a scathing look.

“It’s all about the tone,” John offered, amusement evident in his expression.

“Hm.” Anna considered. “I’ll have to work on that. I suppose you had a lot of practice bellowing commands at people whilst in the Army.”

“I do not bellow,” John protested, though he still sounded amused. Anna merely quirked an eyebrow at him before dissolving into giggles. “Oi!” He shot her a mock stern glare. “It’s not appropriate to tease your patient.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry, my mistake” she apologized, turning her attention to his injury. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

“It’s not very deep,” he confirmed.

“So how do the other guys look?” She asked, frowning slightly as she concentrated on cleaning the cut.

“Worse.” Sherlock replied, maneuvering until he was lying down. “Much worse.”

“Sherlock!” John reproached.

Sherlock glanced over at him with the eye that wasn’t hidden under the ice pack. “What, wouldn’t you rather your daughter think you kicked arse than got your arse kicked?”

Anna giggled.

“No, I, well…” John floundered, trying to look stern. “Oh, I don’t know!” He winced then.

“Sorry,” Anna apologized, meeting his calm eyes with her worried ones.

“Don’t be,” came the immediate reply. He gave her an encouraging smile. “Keep going, you’re doing fine.”

She finished moments later and sat back on her heels, looking between them, each with a bag of frozen vegetables pressed to one cheek. “Do either of you have any other injuries that need tending?” They both shook their heads and she nodded, taking a moment to tidy the first aid kit. “So what happened, then?” She lifted her head at the ensuing pause, to find John regarding her carefully and Sherlock watching John.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” her dad replied.

Anna rolled her eyes. “As in, you’re not going to tell me, so I should quit asking?”

John smiled. “Sounds about right.”

Not for the first time, Anna wished she had just a little of Sherlock’s skill at deducing. She knew her dad as well as just about anyone, but he had always been good at keeping things under the surface when he wanted to. Were the injuries simply the result of a hiccup during a chase? Were their opponents now in custody? Or was something more going on that they weren’t telling her? Anna unconsciously squared her shoulders and held John’s gaze. He raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock burst into laughter, startling the other two as their eyes immediately snapped to him.

“Care to enlighten us?” John asked mildly.

Sherlock momentarily struggled to form a coherent sentence and then gave up, rumbling with laughter from his spot on the couch. Anna and John shared a bemused look, as Sherlock took a deep breath, wiping at his uninjured eye.

“That was…” He took another breath, glancing between them. “A Watson staring contest is most… interesting.” He chuckled again. “I stand corrected, Anna Watson, you have definitely learned a thing or two about intimidation from your old man.”

“Who’re you calling old,” John grumbled, getting to his feet and reaching down to help Anna up from the floor. He grinned then. “She can hold her own,” he regarded his daughter fondly. “But I’m still more intimidating.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Anna retorted teasingly, as Sherlock snorted. Anna leaned into John and he pulled her closer with one arm, giving her a squeeze.

“Right,” he said after a minute. “Time for bed, I think.” He nudged Anna, gently chiding: “You shouldn’t have waited up for us.”

“Apparently, I should have,” she replied, glancing from him to Sherlock and back. “You clearly needed some help.”

“Yes, because we would have been unable to locate a bag of frozen peas without your assistance,” Sherlock retorted dryly.

“How’s your eye?” John inquired, stepping away from Anna to crouch beside the couch. “Let me see.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but dutifully lifted the ice pack. After a moment of examination, John got to his feet, satisfied. “Keep the ice on it. You’re kipping here, I assume?” The detective had taken over the entirety of the couch with his lanky frame.

“Mmm, I suppose.”

“Right then.” John guided Anna towards the hallway. Just outside her bedroom, she paused.

“I wish you’d tell me what happened.” She looked at him earnestly. “I know you won’t, but I was worried. _Am_ worried.”

John pulled her into his arms, and she readily snuggled into the warm hold. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. But you don’t need to worry. The situation was…resolved and I really am okay.”

He sounded entirely confident, but Anna couldn’t help but wonder if he’d feel the same way once he looked in a mirror. She supposed he probably would.

“Just please be careful,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by his shirt. “I need you in one piece. And Sherlock, too.”

“I will be careful. I promise.” He held her tighter. “I love you, you know that?” 

“I know.” John could hear the smile in her voice. “I love you too.” He pushed her back slightly to kiss her forehead, giving her a gentle smile.

“To bed with you,” he ordered, his tone full of affection.


	6. Name Calling

_Set at approximately the same time as "Bedtime Rituals" and "Experiments"_

 

Anna clung tightly to John’s hand as they made their way through the maze of New Scotland Yard, looking around with wide eyes. They were on their way home from the park and Sherlock – who had by some miracle been persuaded to accompany them on the afternoon excursion – needed to stop to pick something up. “It’s hardly a crime scene, John,” the detective had stated in response to John’s suggestion that they simply meet him at home. Anna wasn’t exactly sure what that had to do with anything, but it had apparently satisfied John and here they were. The trio came to a halt in an open space near some offices and cubicles and then a grey haired man was hurrying towards them. He smiled down at Anna kindly and she suddenly remembered him.

“Hi Anna,” he greeted. “Sherlock. John.” 

“Anna, do you remember Greg?” John nudged her gently. She nodded. Greg had been at the hospital with her and John, the night they’d met. The night she’d learned – for sure, anyway – that her mother had died. Greg had asked her some questions and, even though she was upset and confused and couldn’t answer them all that well, he was very patient.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“These two looking after you all right?” Greg gestured towards Sherlock and John, still smiling.

“Yeah,” she affirmed, smiling back.

“Glad to hear it.” He winked at her and then turned to Sherlock. “I’ve got those crime scene photos for you, took a bit of doing to get them. So they’d best not disappear into your flat this time.”

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not as though those photos were doing you much good, Lestrade, seeing as you barely noticed anything in them.”

Greg rolled his eyes, making Anna giggle. He winked at her again. “I’ll get the photos, Sherlock. Be just a minute.”

He disappeared around a corner and Anna leaned against John. She was curious about these photos and wondered if she might be allowed to see them. She opened her mouth to ask.

“So you really took in the kid, huh?”

Startled from her question, Anna looked up at the new voice to find a woman with dark, curly hair approaching. The eight-year old couldn’t quite make sense of her expression, but it wasn’t exactly friendly.

“Her name is Anna.” John’s tone was curt and his arm came to rest protectively around Anna’s shoulders. She pressed more closely into his side.

“Anna, meet Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock put in, his tone one of disinterest. “One of Scotland Yard’s _finest_.”

Sergeant Donovan’s eyes narrowed at that, much to Anna’s bewilderment. Everything about this interaction was confusing.

“Do you really think it’s appropriate, John,” Sergeant Donovan asked. “To have a child living in the same flat as this _freak_?”

Anna could feel John tense beside her, but before anyone had an opportunity to respond, Greg reappeared.

“Everything okay?” He inquired, his gaze rapidly shifting from Sergeant Donovan, to Sherlock, to John. Sergeant Donovan offered a shrug and disappeared down the hall. Anna peered up at John, but he was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight. Beyond him, Sherlock looked bored. Greg looked as though he wanted to say something further, but then simply cleared his throat and handed the folder to Sherlock.

“All of the photos are in there,” he told him. “And as I said, I will be needing those back when you’re finished.”

“Yes, yes.” Sherlock was already spinning on his heel, heading back the way they came. John finally glanced down at Anna, who was still watching him. Taking her hand, he gave a slight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I mean it, Sherlock,” Greg called out. John offered a vaguely apologetic look, before turning to follow Sherlock, gently tugging Anna after him.

 

\------------

 

Sherlock was walking quickly and John clearly trying to catch up. He was holding tight to Anna’s hand and she nearly had to jog to keep up with him. Outside of the building, Sherlock hailed a cab, giving directions to Baker Street as John and Anna climbed inside. The cab was then silent for several minutes.

“Sherlock, why did that lady call you a freak?” Anna tentatively broke the silence, glancing between the two men, one sitting on each side of her.

“Anna…” John warned, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Because people are often quick to judge that which they do not understand.”

Anna was silent for another minute as she worked through that.

“And because she’s an idiot.”

“Sherlock!” John rebuked, though without much heat, and the detective merely shrugged.

“So…” Anna was still trying to make sense of it all. “She doesn’t understand you?”

“Correct,” Sherlock replied.

John was momentarily surprised that Sherlock didn’t sound the least bit annoyed, given that he was effectively repeating himself. The detective seemed willing to make occasional exceptions where Anna was concerned.

“Did she hurt your feelings?” Anna asked then, and John had to swallow a laugh.

Sherlock looked appalled. “Hardly,” he scoffed. “I certainly don’t hold _Sergeant Donovan’s_ opinion in any esteem.”

“But doesn’t she know that it’s not nice to call someone a freak?” Anna pressed, wide eyed.

“I don’t think she was trying for nice, love,” John explained. “But you’re right, it wasn’t nice and she shouldn’t have said it.”

Anna twisted in her seat, leaning back against John and looking up at Sherlock. The detective returned her gaze.

“Well, you are weird.” Anna offered after a moment. “But that’s what makes you _you_.”

Anna wasn’t entirely sure why John chose that moment to envelop her in a crushing hug, but she didn’t really mind. And as Sherlock turned away to look out the window, she was almost positive she could see a tiny hint of a smile.


End file.
